m. l. beals writes about the art of fiction. Occasional jokes.

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Post number 182

Would you like to watch a fantastic movie, unreading populace who occupies my mind? Of course you would. Go watch The Secret of Kells. It’s fantastic. Absolutely gorgeous is what it is. And I want a white cat called Panger Ban. Mr. Peepers probably doesn’t want his name changed though. He’s used to it. That and Peeps, Peeperdoodles, Peeperoni, and Catmonster. I think another name might make his little kitty head explode.

What was I on about? Oh yes. Secret of Kells. Animated movie from Ireland so steeped in magic it makes your average Disney movie look like, oh I don’t know, something terribly non-magical. Like cottage cheese. Yes, definitely like a big pot of cottage cheese. All the colors in Kells are decidedly what they are. RED jumps out in smoke and coils and devilish edges when the Vikings attack. Green is a flutter, vibrant and living, and blue is bloody magic in symbols. My favorite, though, was Aisling’s hailstone white hair and her quick prancing run. And of course that scowling cat Panger Ban.

I like being reminded of magic. Too often, in the doldrums of work, and the frustrations of the work I impose on myself, I forget that I believe in magic. Not like Expeliarmus or whatever, but the beauty that exists when an exceptionally talented person or group of people set themselves to doing one task Extremely Well. Thus so with the Book of Kells itself as well as the movie. Magic.

And I should probably end this post before I end up sounding any more like Esme. Exceptionally and Extremely Esme.